


heaven

by rangerhitomi



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Astral Durbe, Gen, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 12:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11691624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: Astral World is a place free from sorrow, death, and pain. But without pain, one cannot know joy. Durbe seeks to find purpose in a world where emotions are suppressed for the sake of perfection. To Eliphas, Durbe's strong chaotic feelings and unconscious ties to his human life are a danger to the stability of Astral World.And all Chaos must be eliminated.





	heaven

**Author's Note:**

> And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away.  
> –Revelation 21:4

Searing white light burns into his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut against it. Against the backs of his eyelids, white-hot orbs dance.

“He’s awake.”

Strong hands pull him to a sitting position. He lets them and bites back the barrage of questions on his tongue. They ask him one first.

“Do you remember your name?”

Name? Name… _name_ …

He searches his limited memory. It takes only a few seconds; he’s not even sure he knows what he looks like. He opens his eyes. Everything is blue and white, and the balls of light bounce in his vision.

“Durbe,” he says in lieu of the _I don’t know_ on his lips. It surprises him just as much as it seems to surprise these… people.

No, not quite _people._ They’re beautiful, with an ethereal blue tint to their skin and hair; many of them lack pupils in their eyes. He wonders if he looks like that. His hands have an odd glow but maybe it’s just the light. The burning orbs in his eyes are still there when he blinks.

The hands let go. He’s too weak to sit unassisted, and falls to a half-lying position on his side. His eyes itch, and he rubs them with the back of his hand.

“That’s not it,” the largest being says firmly. The others nod, but make no sound. “You’re called Dumon.”

He shouldn’t say anything, but he can’t help himself. He pushes himself back to a sitting position and blinks up at the being. “I really think my name is Durbe.”

“It’s not.” The being gestures to someone behind the newcomer. He feels strong, soft hands on his arms, lifting him to his feet, but he can’t turn his head to see his helper. “You’re called Dumon. Don’t forget it.”

* * *

 

Dumon has no concept of _time_. Time doesn’t pass in the Astral World. But he knows something is wrong here, though he can put no name to it.

He looks like the others: Pale, ghostly blue, with no pupils in his grey eyes, wearing nondescript blue clothing. When he talks to them, they reply in flat, short sentences.

He doesn’t understand why.

Eliphas, the one who seems to rule over the denizens of Astral World, won’t answer his questions. They tell him that questions will get him in trouble. In Astral World, everything is perfect. No one needs to know the answers to questions that are irrelevant to eternal peace.  Questions lead to doubt, and doubt leads to the destruction of the entire world.

But Dumon burns to know.

* * *

 

There isn’t much to do in Astral World.

The scenery is the same blue spires and gemstones; the ocean is clear and lifeless. Meditation consists of sitting in the same position while trying to clear the mind of intrusive thoughts. Every so often, Eliphas reminds them all that their enemy is a place called Barian World, a place of disorder and Chaos, and that only the order and peace of Astral World can balance the universe. There’s no place in Astral World for Chaos.

Some of the others, those ranked highest, talk sometimes of a weapon whose purpose was to destroy Barian World and bring eternal peace to Astral World. A weapon, free entirely of Chaos, that would be the world’s savior.

If they could create this weapon, Dumon wonders, could they have created me?

He is under no illusions that he is the weapon. As Eliphas reminds him over and over, he _feels_ too much to be able to rank up. Feelings were dangerous. Feelings were Chaos. Everything is Chaos, but Nothing is perfection.

But Dumon doesn’t know where he came from. None of the others know, either. They all simply appeared in Astral World and strived to free themselves of Chaos. Toward perfection. Toward… nothingness.

What _was_ perfection?

Dumon hates meditation; at least, he hates the structured meditation under Eliphas’s watchful gaze. They stare into him as though reading his mind, and try as he might to clear away chaotic thoughts, he can’t help but feel that Eliphas knows he has them. So he goes as far away from Eliphas as he can when it isn’t time for meditation, and sits at the ocean’s edge. There’s something both comforting and wrong about the motionless water.

 _What’s the point?_ he finds himself wondering, more and more often of late. _What’s the point of perfection without any feeling?_

“Feelings create Chaos,” a soft voice says from behind him, and he scrambles to his feet.

It’s not Eliphas, or Ena, or any of the highest Astral denizens. It’s someone Dumon has seen from time to time but found his gaze washing right over, a tall, handsome being with white-gold hair that dips into his—

Dumon stares into the stranger’s emerald eyes. Anything green is rare enough in Astral World, but he’s never seen another being with eyes of any color but gold or blue.

“Who—”

“Who do you think I am?”

Dumon frowns. Like many of the others, this newcomer wears robes of blue, but he wears them regally, the way Eliphas does. “I…”

“Who are _you_?”

“Dumon,” he says promptly. Saying the name feels like a lie but he knows that the desire to call himself _Durbe_ must be the true lie. After all, Eliphas said his name was Dumon, and Eliphas had achieved a rank far higher than Dumon could hope to reach.

The stranger glances away, toward the dark sky. “Who do you think you are?”

Dumon hesitates.

_Dumon!_

Eliphas is summoning him for meditation. When Dumon turns back to the stranger, he is gone.

* * *

 

Instead of emptying his mind of all intrusive thoughts, he dreams.

He’s flying over the ocean on the back of a horse with wings, a familiar oddity that he doesn’t register. The water is bright blue and glistens in the soft yellow light coming from the sky. It ripples back and forth and crashes against the shore of an island. He hears an unfamiliar sound, high-pitched but not unpleasant. There are children chasing each other on the streets with smiles on their faces, tapping one another with their hands before running off again.

He lands.

The children see him approach and wave, smiles even brighter. There are wrinkles in their faces from their expressions, yet it seems natural. They say something to him but it’s faint and distant and sounds like they’re speaking from underwater.

When he reaches out a hand, his arms—his whole body—is clad in shining silver armor.

Even through the armor, he feels a hand on his back.

“Welcome home,” someone whispers in his ear, someone familiar and comforting, someone whose voice is clear. It’s someone he knows, trusts, cares for.

He turns—

* * *

 

—Eliphas hovers over him, arms crossed.

 _Oh,_ Dumon thinks, _oh no._

“Chaos,” Eliphas begins, and Dumon’s shoulders slump, “cannot exist here. Do you desire to bring suffering upon the people of Astral World?”

“No,” he whispers.

“Your existence here is tenuous if you continue to indulge in the evil that will destroy us.”

“I understand,” Dumon says quietly, but he doesn’t.

“Now clear your mind,” Eliphas commands, forcing Dumon’s head down, “and focus.”

* * *

 

He’s getting better at clearing his mind of all emotion during times with Eliphas. But when he’s free to wander Astral World, he longs for that feeling he had in his dream. He doesn’t know what it is, or what it made him feel, or how, or why it was so visceral, but he wants it.

The others don’t smile, frown, laugh, cry, or scowl. The only ones who do are the people in his dreams, the ones he can see but can’t quite reach, the ones who speak to him but whose voices are unintelligible.

“Why am I here?” he says to no one, but someone answers.

“You’re here to save Astral World.”

He feels no fear now as he turns to face the mysterious being. “Save it from what?”

The being gazes at Dumon with… a strange expression; his mouth is tilted downward and his eyebrows are furrowed. “Itself.”

Dumon pulls himself to his feet, never taking his eyes from the being. “Who are you?” he asks again, and before the being can reply, adds “and I want a direct answer. A name.”

The expression changes completely. Now the lips are tilted upward. “A name.” He closes his eyes. “Mahha.”

The name stirs something at the back of Dumon’s mind. A swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach. The thrill of a beating heart. “Mahha…”

“Your name?” Mahha presses.

“Dumon.”

“No,” Mahha says simply, “ _your_ name.”

“Du—Durbe.”

Mahha steps closer. “Again.”

“Durbe.”

He holds Durbe’s head in his hands and kneels. “Your name is Durbe.”

Durbe’s hands reach up and grip Mahha’s wrists. His chest aches. “What is this… feeling?”

“Relief. Hope. Fear. It can be anything, Durbe.”

“This is Chaos.”

“This world used to accept Chaos. This world rejected Chaos. And this world will destroy itself if it continues its quest for perfection.”

Durbe breathes shakily. “And I…”

“Embrace your chaos,” Mahha whispers. “Sleep. Dream. _Feel_.”

* * *

 

The children laugh, their faces overcome with joy at seeing Durbe again.

“Welcome back!” a little girl shrieks, tugging on his arm. “Come play, Sir Knight!”

“Come now, he’s had a long journey,” another voice says, amused. Durbe turns to see a man whose face is overcome with no less joy than the children, though he hides it with a softer smile.

“King Nasch is gonna play with us too!” a little boy yells, and soon they’re surrounded by small children, all clamoring for their attention.

“Hey, hey, I don’t remember saying anything like that!”

Durbe laughs, because Nasch’s words are meaningless when he puts the children on his shoulders and runs around the town square with them, laughing just the same.

* * *

 

He turns for a second, and when he turns back, there is no joy left in the world.

* * *

 He walks through a battlefield, littered with the bodies of countless men. The ground refuses to drink in the blood, which sits in pools and drips from long blades of grass.

Durbe’s armor is streaked in it. But none of the blood is from this battle, but a battle from halfway across the world, fought for a king he loved and yet never had the chance to say goodbye to.

This war is different.

Civil war, rebellion, treason. Brothers taking up arms against brothers. Plots and murders and assassinations. A king he has pledged his loyalty to, but not his heart.

He returned to the only home he had left and found more pain. More suffering. More despair.

He left one Hell and returned to another.

 _Durbe, Durbe_ , they all whisper to him, _you will fight for the right, yes? Join our cause. Take up your arms and fight alongside your comrades._

He kneels next to his last companion, his pegasus, who has died last for him. He is numb to the stench of blood. He can’t take his sword up. His chest burns with such intensity he fears his heart may be on the verge of giving out.

It is possible, he thinks, to die of a broken heart.

“Durbe,” one of the knights whispers to him, a man he had trained alongside for years. “Take up your sword. Fight with us.”

He can do nothing but shake his head.

“If you do not fight,” they warn, “you will die.”

Merag is gone, Nasch is gone, Mahha is gone. His adopted home is now nothing but rubble. This kingdom burns around him.

 _What would be the point in living now?_ he wonders.

“Your last warning, Durbe.”

“I don’t need a last warning. I will not fight you.”

There are three of them now. Former friends. Each has a sword in hand. He finds no energy to cry.

 _Do it,_ he wants to say, but there’s no need. _Do it. Free me of this pain. Let me die and be free of sorrow._

* * *

 

He jerks awake to the agonizing sensation of cold steel through his body, and _screams_.

Mahha holds him close, strokes his hair until Durbe’s shaking has subsided. It’s the opposite of what happened in his dream, where Durbe stroked his faithful companion as he died. He welcomes the comfort.

“They’ll be here for you,” Mahha whispers in his ear. “Any moment now. You reek of Chaos.”

Durbe takes a series of shaking breaths. His throat constricts at the thought of what Eliphas might do to him. He clutches Mahha’s robes. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“And soon,” a thundering voice declared, sending shivers through Durbe’s body all over again, “you will not be.”

He’s suddenly kneeling in the crystal palace where the other denizens of Astral World meet for meditation. They all stare at him, unmoving.

“This creature has infected Astral World with its Chaos,” Eliphas’s voice rings out.

 Tears leak from Durbe’s eyes. The Astral beings watch with the same impassivity.

“We must eradicate it and return order to our world.”

“You didn’t want to feel pain again,” Mahha breathes into Durbe’s ear. None of the others seem able to see him. Maybe he hadn’t been real from the start. _He kept me whole,_ Durbe thinks. “You didn’t want to feel pain. Astral World took your wish and tried to grant it. But your heart was too full of everything else. Joy, sorrow. Hope, despair. Love, loss. You have far more Chaos in your heart for Astral World to suppress.”

 “I thought I was going to help save this world,” he whispers.

“You are,” Mahha replies. He kneels and takes Durbe by the hands. “You will help save Astral World and Barian World together.”

“Your Chaos will return to Barian World.” Eliphas’s voice carries throughout all of Astral World. Durbe is an example to the rest of them, now: Anyone who taints perfection will be destroyed. The faces around him are expressionless. Fear, sorrow, concern, pity… all are Chaos, and none of them could have Chaos in this world.

“Are you coming with me?” Durbe asks the spirit.

“We will meet again,” Mahha assures him.

Tears flow freely now. “Will it hurt?”

“Not at all.”

Durbe nods.

"Goodbye, Dumon," Eliphas spits. 

Durbe smiles, a mix of sadness and relief. "My name... is Durbe."

Eliphas’s sword pierces him from behind.

* * *

 

There’s nothing to see at first but a dark red light. He blinks against it a few times.

“He’s awake.”

Strong hands pull him to a sitting position. He lets them and bites back a barrage of questions. They ask him one first.

“Do you remember your name?”

Name? Name… _name_ …

He searches his limited memory. It takes only a few seconds; he’s not even sure he knows what he looks like. He opens his eyes. Everything is dark and red, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust.  

“Durbe,” he says, and says it again. He touches a hand to his face. There’s nothing there, though part of him is puzzled. He feels like there should be something more than rough skin there. “My name is Durbe.” He looks up at the one with a hand on his shoulder. He’s nothing but a faint shadow in the darkness. “Who are you?”

“I am Nasch.” The figure gestures to another figure a few feet away. “This is Merag.”

Durbe repeats the names. Merag is just as shadowed, though they are coming more into focus now that his eyes are adjusting. “Where am I?”

Nasch holds out a hand and straightens up. Durbe takes it and allows Nasch to pull him to his feet. Even as he stands, a voice in the back of his mind answers the question before Nasch does.

_This is Barian World._

_This is home._


End file.
